


Magic Runs the Halls, Runs the Walls, but Most of All? Magic Is for Us All.

by SpaceOut



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Harry Is Too Grown Up For His Own Good, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Korean Characters, Muslim Character, pretty sweet at least, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 12:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12887511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceOut/pseuds/SpaceOut
Summary: He'd heard rumors of a bookstore in London that takes in runaways.It's said they work magic.He runs.





	Magic Runs the Halls, Runs the Walls, but Most of All? Magic Is for Us All.

**Author's Note:**

> i was sick one day and i wrote this and i reread it and heck it was pretty decent so here u go. 
> 
> my first hp fic (posted, i have another much longer one in the works that involves just remus getting involved. and hey hey hey soon soon soon) so yay confetti
> 
> im an american guy so if this is a shitty london well i tried

When Harry was ten years old, he ran away. He had a pack full of clothes, money, food, personal hygiene items, and a map of England. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

He soon found himself all the way out in London, a few nights later. (He wondered if the Dursleys even noticed he was gone.) It was an odd place, pretty, but surely odd. 

The streets were gray, the lights were bright, and there was people everywhere. It set him on edge. Every kind of person, light skinned to dark as the night, shabby to designer clothes, and every kind of look imaginable. 

Harry looked almost like a school boy, with his backpack, light overcoat, and simple clothes. His skin was fairly dark, not as dark as many, but surely brown. His hair was chaos. In fact, the only thing that made him stick out from the model Muslim school boy, in all likeliness, was his scar. 

It was a jagged thing, it sprawled from his upper left forehead to right between his brows. It almost looked like lightning. Harry was told that it was his father’s shabby, drunk driving that lead to the scar, and the death of his parents, but Harry couldn’t find it in himself to believe the Dursleys. 

He stepped into a little bookshop as he tugged on his backpack strap. The shop was a quaint little place, brilliant shelves of books that stretched on and wove in and out across the store. They were as tall as the ceiling and shelved to the brim before the bookcases looked like they were apt to split apart. 

The ground was a soft carpet, a brown gray that gave it a homey effect. The walls, while almost impossible to see behind the dark oak shelves, was a non-offensive blue. Eggshell, if Aunt Petunia’s magazines were to be believed. 

He idly browsed the shelves as he wandered to the front. Odd books were there, books on magic and potions, an absurd notion if he’d ever heard one, but perhaps they were for young kids. It was an endearing prospect. 

The reason he came to such a little shop was because it was rumored to be a safe haven for kids under abuse. Some young couple ran it. Harry knew he wasn’t too badly abused, rarely was he hit in any matter physically, and what were words? (Painful.) But he knew neglect when he read about it in school. 

When Harry finally had made it to the front, he looked up at the owner. A young man, no older than thirty, looked down at him. He had light, wavy brown hair, kind brown eyes, a soft jaw, sharp cheekbones, but most pointedly, he had scars across his face. Three smaller ones on his jaw, one across his eyebrow, and one across the bridge of his nose.

He seemed familiar. That was probably a bad thing, but maybe not, maybe not at all. His instincts said to trust the man, and those very same instincts led him to safety many times before, so he decided to trust them. “‘Ello, sir, have you a book on magical animals?”

The man’s eyes bore into him, and for just a moment, they were caught in a staring contest, one to which the man lost. The man’s light red jumper, Harry noticed as the man walked into the back, was awfully wrinkled and far too big. 

As the man rooted around in the back, Harry heard footsteps behind him. Footsteps of another child, he was sure. He turned to face the newcomer, another boy-- perhaps a girl, as the kid had rather androgynous features. The kid had cheekbones even higher and sharper than the man’s, skin far more pale, nearly translucent, in fact, and had matching platinum hair on top of it. He was not dressed nearly as shabbily as Harry, but had a pack and a slump to his shoulders that showed that they were in the same boat.

They made eye contact after sizing each other up. Harry’s instincts kicked in yet again. Trustworthy. The boy had startling gray eyes. Harry wondered if his own were as interesting. Neither of them backed down from the staring contest. It was not when the man said a kind, “Come here boys, we’ll find you someplace to go. I’ve called up a friend of mine, but let’s get some food into you two.”

The two broke eye contact and looked towards the man. Harry squared his jaw and took a step closer to the boy, which the kid mirrored. The man seemed to know what this meant. “I won’t separate you two, not if you don’t want. People ‘round here call me Moony. I was in your place before, come along.”

Harry looked over at the boy, who nodded, and followed ‘Moony’ to the back room. The back room had the same tranquil air as the main, but it lacked a few books and had a few seats, a table, and a little fireplace in the corner. An odd setup, but Harry knew the city was rather odd. 

Moony sat down in one of the chairs and picked up his book. He looked at ease under the situation, calm and ready to face whatever came. 

Harry sat down on the chair across from the man, the boy sat down in the chair beside Harry. It was quiet. There was food on the table. It made his stomach growl. “You can eat. There’s bread and jam, a few biscuits, Siri would never let me go without. There’s tea, but I know kids rather prefer hot chocolate, on such a cold day.”

“How did you make it all so quick?” Harry asked as he cautiously reached for a piece of bread. “You hadn’t but a minute, I’m sure.”

The boy next to him shook his head, “Magic.”

“Magic isn’t real,” Harry said succinctly, tearing off a bit of the bread before taking a bite.

“I know it is, I grew up with it, my mother taught me all sorts of spells before she died,” the boy said, growing a bit louder to sound more steadfast. “My name’s Draco, yours?”

Harry glanced at Moony, who was calmly reading his book, then looked back at Draco. “Harry. Are you here because of the rumors?”

Draco nodded, picking up a biscuit. “My father, with the loss of mother, has turned...quite mad. It was no longer safe to be there. So I ran. What of you?”

“My Aunt and Uncle...were neglectful people, only to me, they were...verbally mad, and occasionally physically too. I ran when I first thought I could.”

Draco nodded again, then took a bite of his biscuit. He seemed to think it was well and good. 

Moony simply read on.

\--

Fifteen minutes later, there was a woman who entered. She had flaming red hair, a round face, and a soft brown dress to match her eyes. “Have you fed them, Remus?” She asked Moony. “Anything good?”

“Bread and butter was available,” Moony said with a small smile. “They quite preferred the biscuits. Sorry, Molly.”

‘Molly’ turned to he and Draco with a gasp. “Oh, my, Remus- they have to stay here. You know that.”

Moony looked over at the boys, glancing over at Molly, then rolling his eyes, making Harry snort. “You ready for an odd day or two? We must involve the police, sound fine?”

Harry and Draco met eyes again. The nodded. 

“Sounds fine, let’s get started,” Draco relayed.

\--

A month later, Harry and Draco were staying with Moony. It was almost Harry’s birthday too, so that was ever exciting. It was also odd. Moony was a registered foster parent, along with his fiancé, Sirius, or as they were told to call him, Padfoot.

Harry chewed on his bottom lip as Draco sat down next to him. They were told to sit down so that Moony and Padfoot could talk to the two of them about school. It was, after all, getting close to the autumn semester, but it still put Harry on edge. Something said that he would be uneasy at the news. 

“You’re going to be fine, Harry, they’re going to talk about Hogwarts.”

Ah, Hogwarts, the school which Draco rambled on and on about. That and magic, which he was adamantly stating was real. Harry was yet to believe him outwardly, but inwardly? He felt a squeeze in his chest at the very thought. It seemed too good to be true, but, there were some signs to show he was right on track.

Moony sat down first, calmly and as elegant as ever, then Padfoot practically skipped in and fell onto the couch, rather than merely sit. 

“Magic is real, Harry.” Moony said point blank. 

Padfoot nodded, pulling out some sort of stick and muttering something. A little array of stars shone above them. They were beautiful.

Draco looked over at Harry expectantly. “Well, not to say I told you so, but…”

“I know. I know. I just…” Harry hung his head, looking to the floor. “My family called me a freak for doing the things I could do and I didn’t want it to be true.”

“We’re all freaks, Harry,” Padfoot said seriously, swinging his legs over the back of the couch so he was upside down. “But not for the reasons of magic. Having magic is just the same as me being Korean-- fact of life. And who said being a freak was a bad thing? Everything looks different from being upside down.”

Draco nodded.

Moony smiled.

“Hogwarts is real too, then, what’s that like?”

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed
> 
> drop a comment, kudos, or at least smile wistfully at the piece of what could have been if only siri had shut the fuck up and explained
> 
> please and thanks have fun ya'll


End file.
